


When the Farsei Blooms: Insights

by prairiecrow



Series: When the Farsei Blooms [2]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Culture, Cardassians, M/M, Primitive World, Quest, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slave Culture, Stranded, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-19
Updated: 2011-08-19
Packaged: 2017-10-22 20:33:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Selected events of "When the Farsei Blooms" from the point of view of Elim Garak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> References events up through Part Thirteen of "When the Farsei Blooms". The numbers refer to chapters.

Looking back, Garak knew that he should have realized he was in trouble when he’d faced the smooth-faced young man across a table laid for a late-night supper and —

No. It had begun even earlier than that. It had begun as soon as he’d been forced by circumstance to spend most of each day in the company of Lieutenant Julian Subatoi Bashir. Previously the danger hidden in his acquaintance with the good Doctor had been unable to fully manifest; now, strengthened by continuous association, it began to stalk him… and he, the hunter, had unwittingly become the hunted.

***************************

 _  
**1-4**   
_

Being stranded on a remote and cold Cardassian colony world with pre-combustion engine tech levels was not something Garak found particularly enjoyable, but it did have its compensations. One of them was his companion: Bashir was intelligent, quick-witted and eloquent, and quite physically attractive besides. Garak had been aware of his beauty from the instant he’d first seen the Human walking down the crowded Promenade on Deep Space Nine about two and a half years ago, and he certainly appreciated the way Bashir was oh, so easy on the eyes. It gave him something to look forward to during their weekly lunches, sitting across a Replimat table from those earnest dark eyes and charming features. That the Human could hold his own in the cut-and-thrust of debate was an unexpected and delightful bonus.

But that had been once a week. Here on this benighted planet they were in each other’s company hour after hour, and... well, the Humans had a saying that “absence makes the heart grow fonder”, but as usual they’d gotten things exactly transposed. Garak should have foreseen that the situation was going to become dangerous when he’d realized that they would be engaged in days of constant interaction. As an agent of the Order he had been conditioned from childhood to live and work alone, and further conditioning had been designed to prevent him from forming interpersonal attachments beyond the superficial levels needed to accomplish any given mission. Now, knowing that he found Bashir attractive, he had counted on that training to protect him. He’d believed that his ability to feel warmth and a sincere desire to connect with another sentient being had been stripped from his personality.

How wrong he had been!

He already regarded the Doctor with affection, and that was hazardous. It seemed that his long years in exile had made him weak. The man had saved his life, true, but that was no excuse for sentimentality... yet during the last few months on Deep Space Nine he’d repeatedly brushed off the faint internal alarms at the glow of pleasure he felt when the young Human smiled at him. With the implant deactivated, why should he deny himself a little enjoyment on occasion? Where was the harm?

And then they’d crash-landed on this icy world and the stakes had been raised to a level that Garak shouldn’t have even dreamed of trying to afford. His downfall approached almost silently, and every time he heard a stealthy footfall he convinced himself that he was imagining the danger.

It was almost as if he wanted to be brought down, his heart's-blood spilled for a cause that had nothing to do with his Oaths to the planet he loved more than life itself.

***************************

 _  
**5.1**   
_

After midnight, in Zio Tevar’in. Bashir stumbled out of a bedroom at the inn, half-awake, to be insulted by Yolin Aslel — and the anger that Garak felt, almost as if he had himself been slighted, was a surprise… more so, because the verbal attacks of others slid off him effortlessly, inconsequential, while those same words, directed at Bashir, seemed to matter. 

The empathy was unexpected. Anomalous. But it quickly passed and he did not permit it to trouble him.

After the  _yolinli_  took their leave Bashir tried his best to have a glass of kanar while listening to Garak recount his adventures in surveillance the previous evening. The boy kept falling asleep over his drink, jerking awake almost guiltily. Keeping up a smooth flow of monologue and watching him, Garak felt the usual glow of pleasure at the Human’s presence become a warmth that filled his entire body. When was the last time he’d felt this heat over his heart, this joy that was keyed to one face, one drowsy smile, one set of sleepy eyes? 

Never. Not to this degree, like a  _sokka_  tree awakening with sap and setting forth leaves in its proper season. Not with this sense of fondness that was both oddly paternal and subtly carnal. Not with this desire to reach out and catch hold of those golden fingers and draw such beauty even closer, into his lap, and —

Instead he reached out and plucked the glass from the Bashir’s hands and told him to go to bed, allowing himself a smile as he did so. Watching the Human walk away, he observed the way that strong smooth back moved under its linen shirt and thought about how it would feel under his own hands instead.

The internal whisper of warning briefly ramped up to a shriek of alarm. He was getting too close, but he silenced the warnings and insisted to himself that he could keep things under control. So he was experiencing a little more enjoyment that usual in the presence of the Doctor — was that necessarily a  _bad_  thing, especially under the present (and perilous) circumstances? Of course not. He was a trained agent of the Order: nothing could touch him, not really. A momentary interval of lust for a friend, however emotionally poignant, was not a sign of complete disintegration of the system.

 _Friend._  It was a word that had always sat uneasily with him when applied to Bashir.  _Emotional entanglements are a serpent waiting to strike,_  Tain himself had instructed:  _To indulge in friendship is to indulge in a lethal drug._  And Garak had always been an exemplary student, absorbing each lesson and applying it assiduously. 

Besides, saved life or not, they did only see each other once a week for lunch... but now, after only two days stranded,  _friend_  was a word that was already beginning to fit. Every moment with the Doctor felt as smooth and natural as Allarian silk against the skin, as pleasant as cool water in a parched throat. Setting off from the downed shuttle, Garak had reflected that the coming days would probably reveal rough edges in the fit between them that might damage their acquaintance in the future, and a part of him had regretted it. Instead they’d moved together and locked into a nearly seamless configuration, like two parts of a gun perfectly tailored for each other. 

Sitting at the table, alone, he snorted silently and took a sip of his kanar, turning his mind to the journey they’d be undertaking the following day... 

... and then Bashir called out from his bedroom, asking Garak to take his Starfleet undershirt and pack it away in the saddlebags. Garak rose and went to take the article of clothing from Bashir’s hand, extended through the barely-opened door, and headed at once to secure it as requested.

On the way across the room, he found himself bringing it to his nose and taking its scent. The faint musky odour lit up his spine and went straight to his groin: alien, with no right to be so arousing, but he felt his sheath stir and his ridges flush with instinctive anticipation of —

— of something that could never be. He’d never seen Bashir show the slightest interest in anything male, and besides, it would be beyond idiotic to get involved with a member of an enemy government’s military, however enchanting the individual officer in question might be.

Garak packed away the shirt, finished his drink, and went to bed, only to have that scent chase him through his dreams until dawn. 

***************************

 _  
**5.2**   
_

A cry in the night awoke him. He rolled onto his back and sat up, instantly alert — ready to fight and to kill.

But his combat calculations told him that no one else was in the pitch-black room with him. Another exclamation: a gasp of indrawn breath from the bedroom across the apartment. Bashir. It was Bashir who had uttered that desperate and frightened sound, almost as if weeping. 

"Doctor?" He kept his voice low but sharp, still processing incoming data. He'd just come to the conclusion that they were alone in the apartment as a whole when Bashir replied in an equally quiet voice:

"I'm fine, Garak. Just… a bad dream. Go back to sleep."

For a moment he pondered disregarding that request. He…

… he wanted to know what was disturbing his friend. He wanted to do something to ease whatever distress had made him cry out. 

None of this should have mattered. 

Something moved in the darkness near him. Something bared sharp teeth, gathering itself to spring.

Garak turned his face back to the pillow and returned to his troubled dreams.

*************************

 _  
**6.1**   
_

Then, the following day, Bashir ended up having to ride behind him on his o’wn, body-length pressed against body-length, those strong slender arms locked around his waist. The crack opened by the scent of the undershirt and the night-borne cry, which normally would have been closed by Garak’s emotional conditioning in the course of time, was not only propped open: it widened. 

Garak ignored it. He was used to putting aside inconvenient physical and emotional responses. But all day long he was acutely aware of Bashir’s proximity, and not only because his subconscious combat calculations kept sending up messages that an enemy soldier was not only less than a centimeter away, but also  _at his back_. No, he was getting persistent messages from other quarters as well, parts of himself he’d thought long dead, euthanized by personal choice as well as by training: he couldn't deny that the boy felt so  _warm_ , he felt so  _good_... even the sound of his breathing was somehow soothing... inviting...

Garak set it all firmly aside. He turned his face away from the predator stalking ever nearer. Instead he meditated as he rode, seeking a point of internal stillness while remaining alert to any external threat. And he succeeded, although when they reached Cheldar Nor’iv he found himself angry — actually  _angry_  — that he hadn’t thought to call for a halt during the day’s ride to allow Bashir to stretch his long legs. Seeing the Human stumble upon dismounting filled him with sudden keen protectiveness. This time the internal alarms seemed dim and distant.

Helping Bashir into the inn, that slender arm draped over his shoulders, he told himself that it was only friendship talking — a friendship that an Order agent shouldn’t be indulging in at all, but he'd already decided that was beside the point. Friendship was a minor enough sin and could be dealt with once they were off this hostile world and returned to their usual weekly acquaintance. Renewed distance would solve the problem in itself.

He’d gotten Bashir into a chair, watched him eat, kept an eye on the crowd in case one of the other Cardassian patrons decided to get aggressive with the stranger in their midst. All things one friend would do for another. Nothing remarkable in the least.

Or so he kept telling himself. And so he'd believed, until a pilgrim threatened to pull a knife on his Doctor and everything went straight to Hell.

*************************

 _  
**6.2**   
_

Behaviourally intact Cardassian males — those not subjected to the Order’s ruthless indoctrination — had a strong natural drive to protect their mates. Even more so in the case of the  _n'sar'arah_ , a man's instinctively chosen and perfectly attuned companion-for-life, a rare blessing and the greatest treasure he could possess. Whole epics had been written concerning the necessity of sacrificing one's great love for the good of the State, the propriety of such selfless action, and the disaster that could befall if attachment to the  _n'sar'arah_  was given priority over duty.

Garak knew this on a purely theoretical level and had used it to his advantage several times in the course of his career, manipulating the vulnerability in others to extract confessions or throw his enemies into confusion. He’d done so secure in the knowledge that it was a Achille’s heel that he himself did not suffer. His great love was Cardassia herself, and love for her could  _never_  be a weakness.

He knew what it was to act out of passion for his homeworld. He knew the feeling of righteous determination it imparted, the sense of virtuous triumph. He had felt his inner dragon rise in service to Cardassia time and time again, and each time he had rejoiced in his heart because his love was true and pure. It was all he had ever needed. It was all he was designed to require.

Seeing the pilgrim’s hard hand grip Bashir’s shoulder, he had felt a new dragon awaken in his core — savage, hissing, fire kindling in its throat. He had risen to his feet and ordered the man to let go, his voice still calm, his training holding to that extent at least, but knowing that if the man did not let go he would act to protect what was  _his_ , this golden Human, this dark-eyed jewel beyond price. 

 _His._  The intensity of the emotion was as staggering as its existence. Looking up into the pilgrim’s drunken face, feeling sharp teeth sink inexorably into his soul, Garak found himself wondering briefly if it was the primitive environment that was bringing out this primal response in him, a reaction that should have been quite impossible. But there it stood, as natural as breathing, and when the pilgrim looked down at Bashir and moved his hand toward his belt knife Garak broke his arm without a second’s hesitation, maintaining just enough control to calculate that if he killed the miserable fool it might lead to formal charges and a delay they couldn’t afford. 

But for threatening  _his_  Doctor, death was exactly the correct penalty. Ancient instinct dictated as much.

His Doctor. His friend. 

His  _n'sar'arah_ , his mate.

When had this happened? All such instincts should have been killed by the Order’s merciless conditioning. Yet here he was, engaged in combat for a Human who had no idea what was actually going on.

In his life Garak had sometimes had occasion to reflect that if any of his ancestral Gods existed, they were fundamentally cruel. Now he knew for certain — and he knew that Bashir must never know. He might never be able to have more than the Starfleet officer's friendship, but even that was something he now knew he valued too dearly to risk.

*************************

 _  
**6.3**   
_

Bashir was far more beautiful with the glow of battle on his golden skin than anyone had the right to be. 

The fangs of Garak's downfall sank deeper into his flesh, filling him with lustful fire. He was fairly sure that the heat did not make it into his eyes for more than an instant, and that the flash of surprise on Bashir's face reflected an equal failure to understand what he had seen.

*************************

 _  
**8.1**   
_

He lay with his oblivious  _n'sar'arah_  and did not permit himself a sigh of contentment. The poor child had almost jumped out of his skin when Garak moved in behind him and laid an arm lightly over his waist. A few quick words, a little jesting, and Bashir had begun to relax. Really, he was so very easy to manipulate; the fact that Garak had so much more to lie about now was a matter of no concern whatsoever. The Human was often incapable of seeing what was right before his eyes, much less what was being actively concealed.

So innocent. Nuzzling into the dark tousled hair, drawing a surreptitious breath of its scent, Garak wondered when he'd started to find callowness so attractive. 

He lay awake for long minutes, listening to Bashir breathe and beginning the task of teaching himself to sideline the combat calculations to the back of his mind. When he at last allowed sleep to claim him he was warm and as close to contented as he'd been in a very long time. It was no wonder, he thought drowsily, that the untrained sought this sort of thing out: really, it was rather pleasant in a simple physical sense. Perhaps Bashir, as uneasy as he had been, was finding some comfort in it as well.

That he found this prospect pleasing as well seemed relatively unimportant.

*************************

 _  
**8.2**   
_

When Bashir began to thrash and cry out in the night Garak pulled him closer without hesitation. He was surprised when the Human clung to him in turn and pressed his face to his neckridge, gasping some nonsense about seeing him die. He let the pitch darkness conceal his smile at the good Doctor's foolishness and spun out a soothing murmur to quiet him, ignoring the almost shocking intimacy of the Human's innocent touch.

The word slipped free —  _a'latli_  — before he realized it was in play. But the instant he heard himself say it he knew that it was one of the truest words he'd ever spoken. All the associations of the term cascaded through his mind — twinned blades striking sparks from each other, a gaze like a dagger sheathed in the heart, two men joined by the ties of battle and mutual devotion, the entirety of Ballad Forty-Seven of  _The Fall From Shadows_  — stirring emotions as strange to him as the deep surge of physical desire Bashir's touch was evoking. Amazed, he realized that this fragile creature had unwittingly attacked him on yet another front and struck another mortal blow. None of this reached his voice or his body, of course, but it certainly penetrated his otherwise cold and impervious heart.

Garak was not accustomed to surprising himself. So many shocks in one night was a most unwelcome phenomenon. But neither was he in the habit of lying to himself, and although he revealed nothing to the man in his arms he silently acknowledged the depths of his own wounds. Yet still he was determined that he could stand against this enemy that already had him wrapped in its coils, and he locked away his doubts even as he spoke the dangerous word again, a personal act of defiance. He revealed nothing, even when Bashir unexpectedly seized on the reference to  _The Fall From Shadows_  and tried to pursue it. He pretended that it had all been a clever ploy to distract his friend from the spectre of his nightmare (and certainly Bashir was not thinking about his dream anymore, another case of the lie being as good as the truth). It looked as if he'd succeeding in misdirecting the Doctor's attention and provoking annoyance that would divert their conversation down a totally different track.

Then Bashir touched him again in a way that made time itself stop and the easy flow of words die in his throat, unspoken. 

*************************

 _  
**8.3**   
_

In the Order it was taught that sex was a matter of hygiene, that it was healthy to grant the basic physical urges release from time to time. An agent with frustrated passions could not cultivate the clarity of mind necessary to be fully effective. Consequently Garak had enjoyed his share of sexual partners over the decades, but never with any true depth of feeling beyond varying degrees of emotionally detached lust. 

Bashir's mouth on his neckridge changed all that, those sharp teeth casting him into confusion with a single bite. The boy couldn't know what he was doing, surely not! He was not Cardassian. He hadn't been taught the rites. He did not know the primal signals.

Yet still he asked: "Doctor… do you know what it means, to —?"

And Bashir answered with quiet determination: "Yes."

That word, like the touch that had preceded it, slipped into Garak and opened him as instinctively as a  _sokka_  blossom responding to the light of the sun. He tried not to pull Bashir closer. He tried to keep his voice even: "I don't think you do." When was the last time his heart had pounded like this, driven by anticipation and dread? Surely it was audible even through the armor of his breastplate?

But he knew. Even before Bashir's arm tightened around him, even before that melodiously accented voice whispered a sweet confession against his skin — "I want to be sexually intimate with you." — he knew that the terrain between them had just changed forever. They were engaged in a different battle now, one where even defeat could be counted as a victory. 

Breathing in the scent of Bashir's silky skin, he sensed the delicious tension in his friend's body and almost laughed aloud. The Human was stammering a qualification, something about Garak being free to refuse him.  _Oh, my dearest,_  he thought with dark humor,  _how little you understand!_

He took hold of Bashir's slender waist with both hands. Experience had already proven that the boy could be taught.

*************************

 _  
**8.4, 9**   
_

He could not afford this entanglement. But when his Doctor made the overture he had answered. Really, how could he not? He had fought for the Human as if the boy were his mate, after all; it seemed churlish not to accept the fruits of such a relationship when freely offered. 

With Julian it was more than the simple mechanics of tension and release. Garak set out to give him pleasure, and was both surprised and gratified to receive so much in return. He’d always been under the impression that Human males were on the whole rather selfish lovers; certainly he’d heard female customers complain about them more than once.

It was really quite endearing, the way Julian tried so hard to please him. Endearing and highly effective: each touch seared his skin in the icy darkness, leaving him sheathed in heat, and each touch went deeper, warming places that had never before felt alive. He had relished the act of driving Julian half-mad, mastering the younger man with pleasure rather than with pain. How strange, to find himself wanting to surrender to an alien's touch in his turn!

It was sheer insanity, but oh, such a compelling form of madness…

Finding release in that hot earnest mouth, losing himself, he had cried out as if stricken, thinking:

 _Ah, Julian! Possession goes both ways, it seems._

*************************

 _  
**10**   
_

He'd had his doubts that his friend would want to pursue a physical relationship in the cold light of day. Human males were also renowned for their hit-and-run approach to sexual encounters.

The warm light in those sly dark eyes over breakfast and the subtle (for Julian) flirting set him straight on that score. He smiled back, letting some of the carnal heat that still lingered in his cold reptilian bones flash into his gaze, and had the pleasure of seeing a heated blush stain his  _n'sar'arah_ 's smooth cheeks.

Briefly he considered letting Julian know what he was in for. He decided against it. The boy would learn soon enough, and it was in his nature to preserve as much mystery as possible in any case. It would only make the chase and the eventual capture that much more exciting — and satisfying.

*************************

 _  
**13.1**   
_

Garak stood absolutely still, his gaze fixed on the almost certainly poisoned tip of the arrow being levelled at him by an alien bowman standing 5.27 meters in front of him. 3.25 meters to his left Borik fidgeted, trying not to move too much; 0.42 meters beyond the shorter guide, Aslel glared at their captors with a defiance that did not extend as far as provoking them. 

He was fairly sure that he could overcome a single Naievirl soldier in hand-to-hand combat, but there were six potential combatants facing him, all of them with weapons drawn and most of those weapons probably envenomed. Outnumbered and outgunned, all he could do was wait — and try not to wonder what might be happening to Julian.

The two groups had been staring at each other for a little less than an hour and a half by Garak's internal reckoning, and every minute of it he had been fighting a silent war within himself. His  _a'latli_ , the idealistic trusting child, had gone with a Naievirl warrior for a typically heroic reason: to protect his fellow travellers, although Garak was certain that he'd also been called by the prospect of someone needing a healer. He'd tried to warn the Doctor, only to be brushed off with a typical reassuring platitude. Now he maintained a resolutely mild expression in the face of the enemy, but beneath it he struggled with periodic impulses to grab Julian by the shoulders and shake the boy senseless the next time he saw him…

… if there was a next time. That prospect generated some profoundly unpleasant emotions, most of them more difficult to deal with for being unfamiliar. Garak was not accustomed to being concerned for anyone's welfare but his own. It was most distracting, and yet again he recognized the wisdom of the Order's conditioning, which supposedly rendered its agents impervious to interpersonal attachments. 

 _Emotional entanglements are a serpent waiting to strike._  And he was paying the price now for letting that snake into his heart, wasn't he? It was difficult to concentrate fully on the circumstances in front of him when images of Julian injured, beaten and bleeding — or lying in the moonlit snow with a knife in his chest — kept rising before his mind's eye. Picturing the fragility of the Human's hands and face and shoulders, he could clearly imagine how easily they might be broken. Each time he fought the obsessive thoughts back they prowled away only to flank him and attack again. And again. And again.

Each pleasure in life, he reflected, tended to have a corresponding pain. This situation was a case in point.

Worse yet, there was absolutely nothing he could do. He wasn't sure which was worse: the thought of his lover walking into a trap, or the fact that he was powerless to use his various hard-won skills to protect him from harm.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Borik cast him an anxious glance. The little  _yolin_  appeared to genuinely care for Julian; perhaps that look was trying to communicate as much. Garak glanced back and flashed him a brief reassuring smile, communicating optimism he did not feel. 

Behind the mask of assurance he turned to face his own fear as it circled and moved in once more, baring teeth as sharp and pitiless as a  _r’sarrn_ 's. When they tore into him he smiled a little more widely. His natural talent for deception, at least, still served him well.

*************************

 _  
**13.2**   
_

His first thought, seeing the Human's slim body slumped across the Naievirl warrior's saddle, was:  _I knew it. They've killed him._  The rage was expected; the surge of almost blinding grief was not. 

Oddly enough, his second thought was not:  _Starfleet has no incentive to rescue me from this miserable planet now._  Nor was it:  _The little fool has thrown his life away for nothing._

His second thought was:  _I am alone._  

Ridiculous, of course. He had always been alone. An agent of the Order did not have the luxury of the social bonds that other Cardassians took for granted. Yet the last — and only — time he'd felt such despair was when word had come down that he was to be exiled from Cardassia, never to return. In Julian's gaze he'd found a place to come to rest, something like home. And now that was lost forever. 

The combat calculations were merciless: he had no hope of taking vengeance against this enemy. He'd be shot full of  _nilliea_  before he got —

He braced himself to move anyway, to step smoothly forward and negotiate. The corpse at least would be his. There were rites of farewell that he would not deny his friend and his mate, even on this isolated ball of rock and snow.

Then Julian stirred, and the freezing blackness in Garak's heart was instantly transmuted to heat and light.

*************************

 _  
**13.3**   
_

Every twenty minutes he entered the tent to check. Each time Julian was still unconscious. It had been almost six hours since the Naievirl had dropped the Human's limp body into his arms and issued enigmatic instructions to "let him sleep it off" when Garak slipped through the flap again and knelt beside the sleeping furs that he'd wrapped warmly around his lover, carrying a cup of meat broth freshly brewed up by Aslel from a small animal shot by the ever-dependable Borik. 

“Wake up, Doctor.” He pitched his voice to be low but penetrating and was relieved to see Julian crack open his eyelids. His dark eyes seemed to have trouble focusing until they came to rest on Garak's face; he looked up at his friend with drowsy solemnity as Garak slipped an arm under his shoulders and lifted him into a half-sitting position, but he didn't seem inclined to speak.

Garak put the cup to his lips. "Drink this," he instructed, and Julian took a cautious mouthful, then gratefully drank the rest. The action seemed to exhaust him all over again. His dark lashes were already drooping when Garak set the cup aside and laid him back on the pillow, cradling the nape of his neck in one hand.

Looking down at the delicate Human face and throat, Garak reflected that it would certainly be best to kill the alien now. The past several hours had done nothing but prove that Bashir was a liability to him. His feelings for this man were compromising his operational integrity. It was his duty to eliminate the threat.

It would be so easy, from a physical perspective, to snap his neck while he lay defenseless. His fingers lingered on Bashir's nape, tracing the vulnerable bones as he automatically calculated the precise amount of force necessary to accomplish the murder. Or perhaps he would apply pressure to the arteries in his throat, letting him slip away quietly into eternal darkness. He could easily convince the guides that his friend had died of whatever the Naievirl had done to him, and then it would be merely a matter of granting Bashir the appropriate rites before moving on with his life.

Simple and expedient. All he had to do was —

Then the Human stirred restlessly, turning toward him with an expression so plaintive that no words were necessary, and Garak's cold heart broke open like a cliff face sundered by lightning. Instead of offering violence he used his hand to brush the fall of tousled hair from Julian's forehead, then slid it down to touch that warm smooth cheek.

"Sleep now," he commanded softly, and watched as Julian obeyed, silently acknowledging that he'd reached a point where it would take more than mere duty to make him violate the trust his  _n'sar'arah_  offered without a single question.

*************************

 _  
**13.4**   
_

Julian was trying to lie.

To lie — to  _him_. Or perhaps merely to Aslel and Borik. In any case, he could certainly use some more practice in the craft.

Garak maintained a polite expression throughout Julian's tale, marking each point of doubt with coded references and looking forward to treating the good Doctor to a stern rebuke that would make it clear that any attempt to mislead him —  _him_ , who had learned lying in the cradle — was a very, very bad idea.

*************************

 _  
**13.5**   
_

Once they were alone Julian opened his heart utterly, to Garak's great satisfaction.

He was not so fond of the way the Human's obvious distress made him feel: disturbed on the younger man's behalf and filled with a restless longing to alleviate Julian's emotional pain, which stemmed once again from his unrealistic Federation ideals. How could he not see that he had made the only realistic choice, and be comforted by the knowledge? Instead he was quite miserable.

Garak let him cuddle close and wrapped him in an embrace that pulled him even closer. That seemed to help, although at one point Julian looked up at him as if he'd been stunned by a personal revelation. Garak suspected the nature of that moment of gnosis -- after all, he'd built a career upon accurately reading and manipulating the emotional states of others -- although he pretended complete ignorance. Sometimes the skill of an interrogator lay in knowing precisely what  _not_  to say.

But within, he rejoiced to know that he was not the only one becoming entangled in ways he had not anticipated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> References events from Part Fourteen to Part Twenty-Two of "When the Farsei Blooms". The numbers refer to chapters.

_**14.1** _

Why, the impertinent little minx!

Approaching him so boldly, opening his coat and touching him so shamelessly, biting and kissing him so eagerly — and in a place where they might be discovered at any moment, no less! His estimation of the thrill-seeking capacity of the Human male went up several notches.

 _And_  pushing him up against the wall, an act of dominance that no sexually subordinate male Cardassian would have dared attempt. For an instant Garak was actually scandalized… but of course this was no Cardassian in his arms. Perhaps in Julian's culture such behaviour was considered merely mildly flirtatious.

Still, he was very good at what he was doing: Garak found himself everting in response to the brazen physical contact, and actually permitted Julian his act of insubordination for a few seconds before turning the tables. As he was slammed back into the wall Julian emitted a hungry little gasp; his dark eyes shone with an avid light, convincing Garak that when the time came he would prove most amenable to a bit of rough handling. The desire for that time to be  _now_  almost brought a growl to Garak's lips: the boy needed to be taught his proper place, and the line of his throat was deliciously exposed, ready to be marked with a bite — or several. He restrained himself. This was certainly not the place to engage in serious fightplay.

As he whispered soothing, inflaming words in his  _a'latli_ 's ear — even though he had no intention of following through with anything he couldn't resist playing with this golden morsel — Garak deliberately avoided thinking about the fact that for an instant, pressed up against the wall by Julian's lithe frame, he had enjoyed the taste of submission. For a man of his class and occupation such thoughts were far too heretical to be entertained a moment longer than necessary. But he did allow himself the pleasure of sliding a hand down to caress Julian's ass, thoroughly enjoying the way the Human's whole body reacted to the provocative contact, so responsive and so uninhibited. 

They couldn't arrive in Zio Araga fast enough. Once there he would indulge Julian's every desire and introduce him to some that he couldn't yet conceive of. The good Doctor might possess a certain inherent wantonness, but Garak could smell innocence a kilometre away and it covered Julian's silky skin like a mouth-watering perfume. By the time he was through with their lessons he would wear an entirely different scent — Garak's own.

*************************

 _**14.2** _

He had offered an analogy to his own condition reachable only through a twisted course of reasoning, not expecting Julian to fully understand it.

Surprisingly, it appeared that the Human might have done exactly that.

 _What have I become,_  Garak wondered as he gazed down into Julian's intent eyes and offered a condescending smile,  _to place my truths where they may be so easily uncovered?_

The answer, of course, lay in the act of revelation itself. He was no longer a  _ja'faress_  (as Tervek had once claimed), moving lonely and silent through dark waters; no, he was now an  _iss’harli_  strutting on a moonlit ridge while he flared a mating display of shimmering plumage, with offerings of  _sokka_ fruit laid out at his feet. 

The tantalizing scent of his secrets was drawing Julian nearer, ever nearer. The Doctor's expression as he returned to his task reflected a complex blend of thoughtfulness, compassion and uneasiness.

Garak watched him with his head cocked to one side, feeling both pleased and disquieted. Their dance was, after all, forbidden. No matter what they did here, no matter what passed between them, it ultimately could not last.

*************************

 _**16.1** _

Seeing Esa Kassar's hands on Julian's face, handling him as if he were a slave in truth, made Garak's inner dragon ripple and hiss. He had permitted it, and now he smiled pleasantly at the slave trader, but Julian looked like he was going to open his mouth again. Garak confined his warning to a flashing glance and the obstreperous Human subsided. At least he hadn't needed another kick under the table.

So she wanted to purchase him, did she? Garak verbally fenced with her, projecting increasing degrees of coldness, until she actually offered to place a collar on Julian's throat — and he could conceal his rage no longer. He couched his rebuke in terms of the paradigm she'd introduced, but he made certain the message was clear:  _This man is mine, and you'll threaten him at your peril._

Kassar's smile was a sexual challenge and her gaze was brazen, a heavy-handed attempt to dominate Garak in turn. He was neither impressed nor intimidated, although he did experience a savage urge to break her hand when she dared to lay it on Julian's shoulder. Unfortunately his own aggressive display did not appear to make much of an impression on her either. When she undulated away he knew that there had been no clear victor in their little exchange — and that she was likely to make another attempt if the opportunity presented itself.

Julian, as usual, had missed the finer and more dangerous nuances of the conversation. Garak was not inclined to enlighten him. It would only cause him further anxiety.

*************************

 _**16.2** _

Garak lay awake in the darkness, every sense keyed to maximum sensitivity. Julian had drifted off to sleep long since, although he was restless in his lover's embrace. Garak didn't have to guess at the reason: the prospect of being attacked in the night was keeping his  _a'latli_  on edge as well.

Julian, however, obviously didn't possess Cardassian instincts. No male Cardassian, faced with a threat to his  _n'sar'arah_ , would have been able to sleep as deeply as Julian obviously was at some points. Garak was inclined to interpret that depth of slumber as a mark of Julian's trust in his ability to keep them both safe. 

He closed his eyes. He was not Julian's  _n'sar'arah_. A non-Cardassian could never understand the precise nature of that bond, much less emulate it. He had no reason to expect reciprocal devotion, especially when he'd taken such pains to conceal his own feelings on the matter.

But Julian was enthralled with him and growing more so with each passing day: it was clear to be read in his bright eyes and the joyous quality of his smile, full of secret heat. That pale Human equivalent of Cardassian fidelity would have to be sufficient.

Composing himself for light surveillant sleep, Garak was surprised to find himself able to lose all regrets in the warm scent of Julian's hair. If this was all he could ever have, it was enough. It would have to be enough. If he'd learned anything over the last two and a half years, it was that Julian Bashir was not known for his sexual constancy.

*************************

 _**17, 18** _

He'd had very few opportunities to watch Julian applying his training as a physician. Now, holding down the Naievirl girl's leg as the Doctor lanced a deep tissue abscess, he had a front row seat.

It was an impressive demonstration. Most men, Human or Cardassian, would have found it exceedingly difficult to cause pain to a helpless child. Garak was a notable exception, and so was his  _n'sar'arah_. Julian worked on the girl's flesh with an efficiency and skill that would have made a torturer of the Order proud, resolutely impervious to her obvious suffering. The goal might be entirely different but Garak recognized — and respected — an equivalent professionalism.

Watching Julian close the living tissue with neat stitches, Garak concluded that the ancient instincts clearly had a wisdom all their own.

*************************

 _**19.1** _

The Golden Tarneks were quite good.

Julian's uninhibited enjoyment of their performance was priceless.

*************************

 _**19.2** _

Given the ridiculous stance Julian had fallen into when he first got the sword in his hand, Garak immediately decided that Human holosuite programs were woefully unrealistic as far as bladed weapons combat was concerned.

Then they'd started sparring and he'd changed his mind rather quickly. Clearly the programs had  _something_  going for them: Julian's initial attack moves were passably effective. The alternative was that he'd picked it up just from watching Garak and Blueblade's bout, and that was so unlikely as to be considered impossible.

Whatever the case might be, the way that slim body moved, so swift and powerful even in its superb grace, started a subtle fire burning in Garak's blood. He'd always found combat proficiency exciting. When it came to Julian, the erotic element was vastly multiplied. He found it difficult to maintain a professional demeanour as he walked the young Human through the basics of short sword combat, increasingly impressed by his apparently natural aptitude — and increasingly inflamed by his combination of strength, skill and beauty.

If the ancient instincts had seen fit to choose a mate, Garak reflected as their blades darted and clashed, surely he could have asked for none finer.

By the time they got back to inn he was so hungry for Julian's body that it almost amounted to desperation. It didn't help that he could clearly read equal longing in the Human's dark eyes. But he had not learned the disciplines for nothing. He could wait — and he was determined to savour every stage of the erotic encounter to come. 

He smiled to himself as they mounted the stairs, thinking of the lessons he was about to teach his impetuous young friend. Julian would learn that sexual intimacy was not something to be hastily devoured, like one of their casual lunches. No… Garak intended to make this last, even if it required every gram of self-control he possessed.

*************************

 _**20.1** _

Naked, Julian was a delicious uniform tone — all but his erection and exposed testicles, which were darker and rosier. Garak examined him with sly curiosity as he finally undressed him in the firelight. The Human was beautiful in the way that an exotic animal is beautiful, strangely colored and unnaturally smooth. Such an alien form should not be capable of inspiring such intense sexual desire in ways that had nothing to do with the natural urge to establish dominance. Garak knew that his fellow Cardassians would consider him deviant in his tastes, but then again he'd never conformed to the "normal" benchmarks in that particular regard.

No, his physical passion for Julian was not the issue. His emotional attachment, on the other hand —

He glanced up at Julian's face. The Human's eyes were closed as he enjoyed the sensation of being stripped bare. The sight of his pleasure made Garak's heart beat faster.

To be so concerned with, so affected by, one's partner's response… it was not conducive to properly establishing one's superior status.

But he'd gone into this knowing that it was hazardous territory, hadn't he? That this man had undeniable power over his heart, power sufficient to save his life when he should have been executed? 

Dangerous. But oh, so lovely.

Garak finished his task and permitted Julian to return to favour, trying not to place too much stock in the adoration in the younger man's dark eyes. Surely Julian had regarded most of his many sexual partners with that same intensity. Again he reminded himself:  _He is not Cardassian. He does not understand. He_ cannot _understand._

*************************

 _**20.2, 21** _

Oh, but the boy certainly had the  _most_  remarkably talented hands, that much could not be denied. 

Garak nearly purred as Julian carefully tended to the scales of his neckridges. He had lied about the allogrooming, of course: Cardassians, amongst themselves and out of sight of alien races, could be very physically affectionate. To care for the body of one's lover, tenderly inspecting each scale and applying delicately scented oils, was a venerable tradition; even males who were not being sexually intimate were known to engage in it, although in that case it became even more a matter of politics. Garak himself had been the recipient of such attentions several times in his career.

None had felt quite like this. None had been offered in the same affectionate spirit.

With Julian there appeared to be no ulterior motive of dominance or submission — only the sincere desire to give and receive pleasure. Quite amazing, really, how Humans uncoupled sexual behaviour from the constant struggle for social superiority. Or perhaps that was only the case with this one particular Human…

Well. Garak, too, was capable of learning new tricks. He was the dominant partner in this relationship, even if part of the thrill was in watching Julian steadfastly assert that he held equal power — but he was willing to play the game on the Human's terms for the time being. He would proceed as if they were of equivalent social standing if that form of exchange made their liaison easier and more delightful for his partner. Beneath it all he would continue to know that he was the one in the position of true power: the power to manipulate Julian into whatever behaviour he wished.

Each kiss that Julian bestowed on each newly revealed scale felt like a brand on his skin, full of vital mammalian heat.

*************************

 _**20.3** _

“I wish you could,” Julian quietly. “Return to Cardassia, I mean. I know it’s all you really want.”

Garak, washing the Human's soft hair in turn, almost paused in his ministrations.

Julian was right, of course.

But he was also wrong. 

A return to Cardassia was no longer  _all_  that Garak wanted.

He responded lightly and glibly, giving the nubile young man no hint that his hold over him had just sunk even deeper into Garak's soul. If Julian could not return the intensity of the  _n'sar'arah_  bond, better he never suspect that it existed.

*************************

 _**21.1** _

He was so easily manipulated. Such a passionate creature, a slave to physical pleasure, making no effort to hide the effect of Garak's caresses on his willing body.

So wanton, his writhing and his cries going to Garak's heart like a silver blade.

Garak talked him through the first act of penetration, soothing him with gentle words, amazed and delighted when a simple caress of the hidden gland within the Doctor's body produced such dramatic results. Humans made no effort to hide detailed medical information on their species: Garak had researched Human anatomy years ago, when it became clear that they would be a dominant force on the station, and his eidetic memory had retained the information that the prostate gland was sensitive to stimulation. The results were even better than he might have anticipated.

Driving Julian closer and closer to orgasm, he found himself issuing a warning in more or less clear terms: "You should never have let me get this close." Another piece of  _sokka_  fruit laid down as an offering, its significance unrecognized.

Julian's response, an almost desperate moan — "I know you could hurt me, but I know you won't." — surprised and, surprisingly, gratified him, but not half as much as the words that followed: "I trust you… I want you…."

Could it be? It was second nature to question the declaration — Garak trusted no one, on general principle — but the tone of voice was almost painfully sincere. Could Julian actually mean what he said?

Then Julian was coming in his hands, almost screaming, and Garak was too busy enjoying the sight of the delicious boy losing control to seriously consider the question.

*************************

 _**21.2** _

Cardassians — from the Union, at any rate — were resolute atheists. Still, Garak found himself wanting to offer up a prayer of thanks to the Hebitian Gods.

Julian was unexpectedly, utterly and magnificently shameless, from wanting to taste his own semen on Garak's skin to demanding Garak's semen in his pretty and salacious mouth. He emitted a relentless heat that had nothing to do with body temperature, from his finger penetrating Garak in turn to the inciting words that issued from his pouting lips.

"I've never loved a Cardassian before," he said, and so great was Garak's yearning for what could never be that he nearly believed him.

*************************

 _**21.3** _

When he allowed himself to ejaculate and saw the satisfaction in Julian's uplifted eyes — an act so submissive, an attitude so self-satisfied and empowered — he felt something deep within him almost break at the contradiction. 

 _My love,_  he thought, wanting to sink back into the water and cover Julian with kisses and bites, wanting to pull him out of the water and bend him over the side of the bathtub and seize his slender neck and plunge himself into that gracile body in an act of savage dominance:  _My love, how fortunate you are that I have decided to play this game on your terms — for now._

Still… the thought of Julian's struggles and renewed cries — first outraged, then pleading — was undeniably attractive.

A lesson for another time, Garak decided. He had a different plan to execute at the moment. This tender youth had never been with another male before and Garak had no desire to cause him unnecessary pain. He must properly prepare him for what was to come.

*************************

 _**22** _

Half the pleasure of this encounter lay in the tapestry of words they wove between them, clever and effortless. No wonder the ancient instincts had chosen thus: Julian was a remarkable companion in every way that mattered…

… except, of course, his ability to commit. Garak had seen him go through numerous sexual partners in the time they'd known each other, equally enthralled with each. He did not flatter himself that he would ultimately be any different. After all, he was many things — an enemy agent, a fluent and consistent liar, a torturer, a murderer — that would repel a man of Julian's idealistic character, if the Human took a moment to think about such things.

Evidently he was not. Or at least not while Garak's hands and mouth were commanding his attention, skillfully dominating him, convincing him to yield control and open himself for deeper penetration. Sinking to his knees before the Doctor, responding to a startling impulse to offer the unsuspecting young man a mark of honour that only one other person had ever received, Garak idly contemplated how long Julian  _would_  cleave to him if circumstances permitted.

Not long, he estimated. From a Human perspective an older Cardassian male — and a rather plain one at that — surely didn't hold much attraction when compared to beautiful females of his own species. What had prompted Julian to offer a sexual overture in the first place? Something to coax out of him later, if Julian even knew. Sometimes he displayed remarkably little self-insight.

Applying his mouth to the head of the silky erection, much to the Human's evident enjoyment, Garak allowed himself a small smile. He'd long known that that lack of reflection was one of the most charming things about Julian — not least because it rendered him such easy prey.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> References events from Part Twenty-Three to Twenty-Eight of "When the Farsei Blooms". The numbers refer to chapters.

_**23.1** _

The sensual stretch was difficult to ignore, displaying that sweet naked body to marvellous advantage. That sweet, naked, thoroughly clean, slightly damp body, subdued and prepared for the culminating act of dominance. Garak could clearly imagine the taste of his skin and the waiting warmth of his inner flesh… but he continued to fold clothes, even when Julian surprised him with a lascivious display that revealed he wasn't quite so subdued after all. Really! Was the boy this demonstrative with his female partners? Perhaps Human women didn't appreciate such licentiousness.

Pretending indifference, Garak suppressed an affectionate sigh. Mammals! They burned so hot, but their passions were not meant to last.

*************************

 _**23.2** _

Oh, he was  _stroking himself_. Immodest, saucy, insolent… perhaps Esa Kassar had been right when she'd said such boldness needed taming.

Approaching the bed, Garak knew that he didn't believe it for an instant. He both appreciated and admired Julian's high-spirited nature, and savoured his defiance like the finest  _kanar_. That he had successfully mastered this brash young officer would be a source of satisfaction to him long after the heat of Julian's skin was a distant memory.

*************************

 _**23.4** _

The way Julian begged to be fucked almost overcame Garak's self-control in two breathtaking strokes. No one should be able to affect him so deeply, to compromise his adamant will with nothing more than a caress and a whisper.

Alas, the days of such splendid isolation were gone, never to return. 

He smiled down at the Human, letting a trace of his anger leak through, and saw fear mingle with the desire in Julian's wide eyes. So he recognized the danger, did he? What rumours had he heard about Cardassian mating habits? None that had made him balk at reaching this point, it seemed — nor was he resisting now. He lay open beneath a field agent of the Order with no trace of defensiveness, only an undisguised yearning for the touch of hands that had administered more agony than his innocent mind could conceive. 

Garak relented in his teasing, stroking the golden face and running gentle fingers back into the dark tousled hair, watching the passion flare in those hazel eyes. The time had come, and Julian was not afraid. Nor did he need to be: Garak had no intention of employing force or brutality. There was no need. His  _n'sar'arah_  had come to him willingly, and he was experiencing a tenderness unfamiliar to him in a sexual context — indeed, in any context. Naturally he wanted to seize and to bite, but the Human was a fragile creature, delicate-boned and tender-skinned. He would have to restrain himself. He would need to be gentle.

“Lie back, Julian," he commanded softly, "and close your eyes.”

The charming boy obeyed without question. Trust should not have touched Garak so deeply either.

*************************

 _**23.5** _

He performed the rite of hand-on-heart, whispering a truth — how Julian seemed to him at this moment, a night-conquered fortress that rejoices in the dawn, experiencing victory in the act of embracing defeat. That the term applied equally well to Garak himself only made the act more powerful. That the reference was a secret kept from his lover made him smile.

*************************

 _**23.6** _

Afraid, no. Nervous? Yes. 

He could feel Julian's body resisting the act of penetration in spite of the earlier preparation. He was breathing raggedly and his eyes were tightly closed as he tensed and trembled, visibly struggling to keep himself in an opened position. Garak slid in and out shallowly, petting the smooth flank and murmuring soothing words against Julian's throat; every ridge on his body pulsed with rapacious hunger, but he let none of that consuming lust reach his voice or his hands. He closed his eyes, concentrating on Julian's reactions and controlling his own body. This was an act as delicate as any interrogation, and he must not --

Then Julian opened for him and he voiced a hiss of triumph before he could stop himself, plunging home. 

*************************

 _**23.7** _

Never.

It had never felt like this. 

There was more to this than the classic matters of status and dominance. Julian's pleasure was a separate delight in itself, and oh, he was writhing, emanating a palpable flow of raw emotions that caught Garak in its vibrant storm: lust, of course, but also something more poignant and refined. He'd been rigorously trained to accurately read anyone he came into contact with, and in such intimate proximity he could neither avoid nor deny what he was seeing.

This meant more to Julian than a casual fuck. The Human could barely speak under the combined assault of sensation and emotion. His face, so guileless at the best of times, now betrayed things that Garak could scarcely countenance.

For the first time it occurred to him that this renowned skirt-chaser had found something with him that perhaps — just possibly — was deeper than mere infatuation. Clinging to Garak and uttering mounting cries as he reached sexual climax, Julian looked positively transcendent. 

Burying his face in the angle of that slim throat, resisting the urge to bite-mark him again, Garak reminded himself that reading cross-species cues was an imperfect science at best. 

*************************

 _**24.1** _

He was trusted.

And more, if Julian's expression was to be believed.

Looking into those plaintive eyes, full of apprehension and confusion and amazed sexual hunger, he realized with a shock that the depth of the Human's emotional attachment might be even greater than he had guessed.

It wasn't possible. Surely even Julian wasn't  _that_  naive, to fall in love with a spy from an organization known for its ruthlessness?

Surely not.

And yet… he'd survived this long by trusting his instincts. And his instincts were sending him one unequivocal message.

He was trusted, and he was loved. 

He answered the look on Julian's face in kind, even though it felt more dangerous than any mission he'd ever undertaken for the Order, even as the icy core of him shuddered and cracked like the fictional mirror on the island of Shalott, shattering the distance between them. The shock of it reverberated through him in secret silent waves of revelation, alternating frequencies of exultant joy and wondering disbelief and bitter regret. 

It could not last. All external circumstances were arrayed against it. Yet for the first time in his life, he felt truly joined.

It was a trial he had never been trained to withstand.

*************************

 _**24.2** _

Julian should not have touched him that way — not on his  _ortek_ , not so aggressively, and certainly not after sheathing that yearning gaze in him like a white-hot blade. 

Not if he wanted Garak to continue to be gentle, anyway. 

But he didn't seem to be objecting to the hard pounding he was receiving: his moans and cries were demanding, and he even offered just a hint of a struggle, a tactic guaranteed to fire a male Cardassian's blood and drive his sexual performance to new heights. 

It was Garak's turn to be lost for words. He settled for biting instead. Julian tipped his head back, inviting the marks of passion on his tender skin. Inviting Garak's unbridled possession. It was all he could do to refrain from clawing Julian's sides and hips: his teeth were leaving enough wounds as it stood.

When Julian began to wail, trying to pull him even deeper into his willing body, Garak let control be wrested from him entirely. As the blinding pulses of orgasm wiped out all thought, even the combat calculations that had been whispering all the various ways he could kill this man in his arms, one word remained immutable amidst the destruction of all that he was: 

 _Yours._

He felt Tain's eyes upon him, and horror for the crime against his Oaths that he had just committed. But at the moment that was the least of his worries.

*************************

 _**24.3** _

At last he drew back enough to look into Julian's eyes.

He had resolved not to resort to brutality. He had failed. What must his  _n'sar'arah_  be thinking? At least he hadn't made the poor child bleed, although he'd be bruised for days to come.

He braced himself to see distance and dismay — perhaps even revulsion — in that lovely dark gaze. He cursed himself for caring at all, and set about rapidly shoring up the emotional walls that Julian's loving overture had cast down. How could he have been such a fool? How could he forget the disciplines so completely? How had he let himself get so close, in violation of all his Oaths, to be cast — 

What he saw instead was unadulterated happiness. Instead of pulling away, Julian moved even nearer, bestowing tender kisses and warmly whispered words. Stunned, Garak watched him lay his finger right on the pulse of his fears and banish that aspect of his self-loathing with a steadfast affirmation that he understood what Garak had done and that he accepted his actions in that spirit. That he would even wear the marks of Garak's possession willingly and proudly, because they came from  _him_.

The new walls that Garak had hastily erected between them fell in ruins.  _He is not Cardassian, and yet…_

Was it possible this unsophisticated Human possessed some degree of comprehension?

Nevertheless, he was far too trusting. Garak told him as much. Julian didn't seem to mind.

*************************

 _**24.5** _

The discovery that Julian had recognized his loss of control — and further, had relished it — cast him into confusion and filled him with dismay.

The way his given name sounded on those beautiful lips didn't help matters. Nor did the declaration of adoration that followed. And the way those elegant fingers felt on his everted cock… well, the less said about that the better.

He covered the lapse with his usual wit and carried on, but he was well aware of how perilous this truly situation was. Usually he had his own fixed inner compass to rely upon, no matter how chaotic the world around him might become. Now that compass was spinning wildly in response to — what? A youth's sweet form and even sweeter glance? A declaration hinted at, not even fully voiced? Hope that he couldn't afford?

Had it really taken so little to bring down Elim Garak, once the Son of Tain? 

The answer, unfortunately, appeared to be "yes". 

*************************

 _**25** _

A tale was traded for a tale, exchanging vital information in poetic allegory. He was pleased by the subtlety of Julian's understanding, although as usual the Doctor persisted in missing the relevant point. 

Did he even fully appreciate what Garak was offering: both a declaration of his love and a warning that it would ultimately destroy them both if allowed to continue? And even deeper, a warning that he would  _not_  permit it to do so?

Unlikely. Julian's perceptions of the universe were blinkered by the often irrational Human tendency to hope in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary. Listening to Julian's tale, Garak could see it writ large. His  _a'latli_  was a fellow warrior trained in tactics, theoretically capable of evaluating the risks of any given situation, but that did not prevent him from seeing only what he wanted to see.

Garak wished that he had the same luxury. Such blindness might prove lethal, but it would inarguably be much more pleasant.

*************************

 _**26.1** _

Mmn. If there was anything more delicious than marking a lover, it was being marked in one's turn. Garak exposed his throat willingly, new pulses of lust radiating down his ridges as Julian set to work. The impudent boy was smiling and teasing him between bites, adding more spice to the already potent mix of eroticism and borderline submissiveness, driving Garak almost to madness. 

He issued a clear declaration of what he intended to do next if Julian didn't relent — only to have the Human turn the tables on him, rolling them both over and issuing a declaration of his own. Held down by his slighter weight, Garak challenged him sharply and was answered with an even stronger signal of dominance. 

 _He dares —?_

He wanted a contest, did he? Very well. Garak let him know what he might be in for in no uncertain terms. And the brazen child promptly —

*************************

 _**26.2** _

Had he —?

Had he  _actually_  —?

Garak almost hissed with fury. To so blatantly suggest that he was weaker and of lower status! Had Julian lost his less-than-Cardassian mind? He should have immediately thrown the Human over onto his back and taught him a memorable lesson in who, precisely, was entitled to issue orders in _this_  relationship: perhaps a few more bites — even a little blood — would instill the proper attitude of respect…

He should have — but instead he permitted the slender Human to hold him down and stroked his everted penis against his lover's, overwhelmed by a surge of new and different heat. He had only played the subordinate partner once before in his adult life, when his fellow agent Tervek had taken him in a shuttlecraft following a mission on Onvar III… but Tervek, at least, had been a fellow Cardassian. To even consider offering submission to an alien male, smaller and less physically imposing than he —

— it was utterly perverse, and it thrilled him in ways that shamed him even as he seized upon it.  _But surely,_  he told himself while Julian realized he'd misspoken and tried to repair the damage,  _it's permissible so long as he's quite clear that I'm the one who's actually in control. Yes, that's quite reasonable. Eminently so._

From that point it was only a matter of negotiation of terms. 

*************************

 _**27.1** _

Julian was angry — and oh, it was  _glorious_. 

He certainly picked things up quickly: Garak had been under the impression that Humans were generally less aggressive than Cardassians when it came to sexual intimacy. Whether it was a newly learned behaviour or an inherent skill, he certainly appreciated what Julian was doing: pinning his wrists, biting him to express irritation, decisively marking him as if he understood the significance of the act. The painful pleasure of each bruise roused both tenderness and dizzying lust.

Beauty  _and_  mercilessness in one remarkable package. It was all Garak could do not to start moaning prayers of thanks to the Gods he had never believed in.

*************************

 _**27.2** _

Now he  _was_  praying, or at least exhorting. The need to rut was becoming overpowering. At least he was cursing in Hebitian, which Julian had no hope of understanding.

The Human withdrew each time, denying him the friction he craved and pinning down his hips with both hands. It would have been an easy matter for Garak to take what he wanted. Julian could not have resisted his strength.

He remained supine, wondering exactly when he'd become such a sexual deviant. A single plea slipped free. Of course he immediately turned to his advantage.

*************************

 _**27.3** _

So Julian liked that idea, did he? Enough that it distracted him from his plan of slow and exquisite sexual torture and motivated him to take a more direct approach.

Such a pity that they'd never have the opportunity to explore all the possibilities that lay before them. Garak pushed the thought from his mind. This night at least was theirs.

*************************

 _**28.1** _

Magnificent! Exquisite!

And oh, such a dangerous game. Garak's self-control was fraying. Only the illicit thrill of surrender kept him from seizing the slender Human, pinning him down, and fucking him into the mattress.

But it was a precarious balance. The perverted need to indulge in submission was in constant battle with the more natural urge to dominate his weaker partner, and the contest grew more violent as Garak's arousal increased. That there was any equality at all was deeply shocking, implying as it did that his relationship with Julian was something that the standard paradigms could not contain. 

When Julian paused in sucking and biting Garak found that he had to whisper, or the storm of mingled desire and fury would have swept them both away. 

*************************

 _**28.1** _

Oh, of all the devious —!

Garak's resistance, the sexually healthy aspect of his personality, succumbed to a single bite. He writhed without shame as Julian's devastating tactic destroyed his last defenses. There was no regret left, only the maddening pleasure of illicit submission, of giving himself completely into the hands of this lover who destroyed propriety and sanity alike.

He left the defining boundaries of the world behind without a backward glance. Whatever he found with Julian would be enough, and more.

*************************

 _**28.2** _

"Julian…"

Garak was afire. 

All of his life he'd been trained to be calculating and cold, a precision instrument in the service of Cardassia. But now all the frozen places within him were alive with maddening flame. It pounded in his blood and infused his voice, turning his normally measured tones into a cry for release.

He should not be doing this. He should not be giving himself to a weaker male, a non-Cardassian, one who knew nothing of the customs and the rites. But Julian's mouth on his aching ridges had taken him beyond himself, to a place where racial law ceased to matter. Julian's beauty had transcended the rules that bound him, an alluring and irresistible vision. Julian's hands were commanding him, breaking him open and apart.

The Human was deep within him now, pleasuring them both. Such pleasure — more overwhelming than any he had ever known because it was so much more than merely physical, and because he was not the one in charge of administering it. Still, he tried to fight it. He tried to keep some part of himself aloof. He tried to hold onto some measure of control.

He failed. Even the combat calculations seemed dim and distant in the face of the fire in his flesh. He heard himself groaning helplessly, thrusting his hips back in wanton surrender as he gave himself fully to his lover's touch.

" _A'latli_ …"

Leroc's words whispered beneath the flow of irresistible heat consuming his mind:  _Passion destroys the order of all that matters… Or so say the sages. I welcome this brief destruction… I open my gates to the army that has besieged me…_

No! This was not who he was! An agent of the Order should laugh at such lustful foolishness. Instead he was rejoicing in the slim smooth cock that dominated him, filling him with a blend of savagely contesting emotions.  _How can you do this to me?_  part of him raged, hateful; another moaned desperately,  _I have failed, I have been broken, I am ashamed_ ; another whispered fiercely,  _Never stop, this is worth everything — oh my love, you have conquered me, you have led me to your altar in chains. And I came to you willingly —_

" _N'sar'arah_ …" 

He wanted to break free. He almost reared up to throw the Human off him, to strike him down, possibly even to kill him. But the word itself was an admission of defeat, even if Julian was utterly ignorant of its meaning. In voicing it he felt his rage, his shame, and his exultation alike reach new heights. 

"If you…" 

He shuddered, surrender becoming new resistance. He was better than this! He would not be slave to mere instinct! He would not… he…

 _If you knew how I long to kill you, how I long to defend you from any harm, how much I would give to make this fleeting moment last for eternity —_

Yet still he struggled, pleading for mercy the boy had no idea was his to give:

"If you  _knew_ , if you —"

 _If you knew what I'm capable of, if you knew what I've done in my long and bloody past, you'd never let yourself be this close to me, my lovely tender-hearted healer…_

"I'm here." Julian's usually melodious voice was ragged. He reached under Garak's belly with his right hand and wrapped it around the erection that wept for his touch, pumping it in time with his thrusts. Garak cried out as if wounded. "I'm here,  _a'latli_ , and I'm not letting go." He buried his face against the darkened neckridge he'd been biting with a sound that was almost a sob. "Never," he whispered, "never…"

 _If you knew that I have to let you go…_

That thought was, at last, too much. Garak yielded to the inevitable. He abandoned himself to the joy of the moment, to the love of this kind and brilliant man who had befriended him in his exile. He surrendered to the tide of his own emotions, inexorable:

 _My_  a'latli, _for all that can never be —_

When his climax overcame him, he managed at least not to scream Julian's name — or to beg for his forgiveness.


End file.
